I’m not sure what I expected seven and a half years in. I don’t think I thought that far ahead. In five years, we moved to a new city, found new jobs in new professions, bought a house, and had a baby. I think you’d agree that all available brain cells were occupied.

Today it all feels very adult. We go to work. We save money. We pay off student loans. Debra found a new job that’s both professionally rewarding and more time consuming and I’m often finding it’s just me and RR at pick-up, at gymnastics, at morning drop off. We work hard. We remark on how we actually do the amount of work commensurate with our salaries. You wouldn’t think that’s remarkable or unusual but there have been times where one or the other is more disproportionate and we’re both sitting at an even, if tiring, balance. We come home. She cooks, or I do. RR consumes popsicles and apples while decompressing over Captain Underpants. I frequently catches her reading, knees flopped open, hair hanging around her cheeks as she digs into a new chapter. One of us washes the dishes. We watch TV and read before going to bed. We aren’t as lively as we used to be. Or at least less frequently. On Sundays, we have dinner with my mom.

That makes our lives sound pretty dull and sometimes it feels that way. But, RR gets taller and more lovely. Her art is sometimes startlingly good. She tells jokes. She knows how to wink after a bit of sass. Debra is in a few bands and some weeks she’s out of the house several evenings. I tell myself I should use those evenings to write but mostly I read, then go to bed early. I suspect I’m the one that’s dull.

Maybe it’s just that we’re so close to March. It’s a dreadful time of the year. I guess what I’m saying is, seven and a half years in is pretty good. Even if it’s not very exciting.